Heroics a Fred and Hermione story
by odyssey1
Summary: In the aftermath of OotP Hermione faces depression. Enter Fred Weasley, Mr. Sensitivity. Constructive criticism very much appreciated :


_**Heroics **_

**_Disclaimer: _**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**_A/N: _**A special Thank you goes to Millieweasley who is a wonderfully talented writer and a very helpful and supportive beta reader. Lots of virtual hugs to you, dear:)

**Laughter is the tonic, the relief, the surcease for pain.**

Charlie Chaplin (1892 – 1964)

The day after the memorial of Sirius Black the mood in Grimmauld Place was verging on depression. It was the first time after the hectic events that led to You-Know-Who's official discovery that the reluctant inhabitants of the Black's ancestral home had gotten the opportunity to regain their breath. To look around. To realize what had truly happened. And that was when the shock had set in.

Hermione Granger rubbed her stinging eyes and set down her copy of "The Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms" in her lap with a quiet sigh. She did everything quietly these days. Just like the others she only talked when necessary in a low, hushed voice and avoided human contact as much as possible, preferring to deal with the loss of Sirius privately. Being the attentive person that she was, Hermione had quickly noticed that the others as well, avoided their once cherished social gatherings. For an important person would be missing. He would always be missing. Hermione felt her throat constrict in an all too familiar way and hastily returned her attention to the book. Once again her eyes skimmed over the sentence that she had tried to read for the past five minutes. Work was important. It was safe and it kept her mind off of their loss. With a heavy - yet quiet - sigh she resumed looking at the words with wet eyes, careful to turn the old pages with as little noise as possible. Yet her thoughts kept wandering.

In retrospect, Hermione mused, the ease with which the disheartened members of the Order of the Phoenix had retreated into their own private worlds of misery was almost frightening. Remus Lupin, once a pillar of strength, had retreated into Sirius' old room and had not been seen ever since the funeral. Not that anybody dared to disturb the distraught man, Hermione thought with a shudder as she remembered the vehement dismissal she had suffered when she had tried to comfort him. Harry had reacted pretty much the same way. If Hermione had thought that her friend had suffered from violent mood swings the summer before – it was nothing compared to the sudden flares of temper he was prone to now. Even Ron was keeping away from Harry, most likely struggling to keep his own temper in check. The Weasleys seemed to huddle together protectively, drawing strength from each other and not letting anyone apart from the family in. They didn't let _Hermione _in. She felt like a stranger. Alone. Estranged. Trapped in this cage of silence. All alone and isolated. With a subdued sob she turned the next page when a sudden 'BOOM!' cut through the silence as a pair of Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs swooped out of the book, where they had been cunningly hidden with an ear-deafening cry like a wounded walrus.

"Aaaah!" Instinctively leaning away from the book Hermione's weight toppled over the armchair she was sitting in and sent it – and its startled occupant – falling backwards onto the floor. There, the book kept spitting out fireworks that fizzed around the room in glorious yellow, blue and red streaks of light emitting loud cracks and booms and whistling noises.

"Damn it," Hermione swore as she crawled out from behind the armchair, holding out the singed book. "This. Is. NOT. Funny!"

Fred Weasley couldn't help himself. When Hermione sent the armchair flying, sending out sparks in all directions he just had to laugh out loud – even if it did mean that she'd find him in his hiding place. Grinning like a madman he stepped into the light, ready to laugh in her face. However, one look at his victim cured the redhead of any mirth. He hadn't expected to see the tears glistering in her eyes. "Hermione?" he inquired gently as he took a few staggering steps toward her, "are you all right?"

"Do I look all right, you imbecile?" she hissed at his through gritted teeth. "Don't you have any hint of decency left in the miserable mind of yours? I don't even know what you try to achieve with this. Now is _not _the time for your juvenile jokes! Have a nice laugh at my expense? Destroying my book? Keeping me from getting just onemoment of piece?" Her voice rose shrilly with each word.

"I wanted to make you smile," Fred answered quietly, internally wincing at how silly his words sounded.

Hermione raised a slightly singed eyebrow. "You thought I'd smile if you blow up my book? You're not exactly the most intelligent person, are you?"

"No, I…" Fred frowned and gathered his thoughts. "You're the one who's supposed to be so very clever, aren't you? You should be able to figure out why I do what I do!"

"Oh," Hermione pretended to think hard, "you do this stuff because you've got the maturity of a spoilt toddler and because you have no empathy at all! Sirius died! Volde- …Voldemort is back! Reality is harsher than ever and _you_ think it's a grand idea to play practical jokes! This is the worst timing you could have possibly chosen, you idiot!"

Fred shook his head and went to Hermione, lifting her up from her position behind the fallen armchair where she had remained in her distress. "Hermione," he said gravely, looking deep into her eyes, "this is the perfect time for practical jokes. They _have _to be played."

"You're out of your mind."

"Or perhaps I'm the only one in my right mind," Fred replied in an even voice as his golden eyes pleaded with Hermione to understand him.

"You're mad. Completely mad, Fred. Do the terms 'mourning' or 'showing respect to the fallen' have any meaning to you? Any at all?"

The grip on Hermione's shoulders tightened. "Does it have any meaning to _you_?" Fred asked in a hoarse voice. "You're the one who's disrespecting all that Sirius died for! You're the one who lets You-Know-Who win! You're the one who just gives up! You, of all people, can't stop fighting, Hermione! You know how much Harry and Ron depend on you. On your strength…" his voice broke and with a sudden jolt of realization Hermione noticed that Fred Weasley, incurable prankster extraordinaire, was barely holding back tears. "You can't just give up, Hermione…"

Completely surprised by the unexpected vulnerability in the red-head, Hermione hesitatingly raised her hand and brushed a tear from his cheek. "I'm not giving up, Fred. Can't you see? I was researching Charms that can be used against Voldemort. I'm still…"

"When was the last time you smiled, Hermione?" Fred interrupted her as he brought his hand to cup hers on his cheek. "Come to think of it, when was the last time you allowed yourself to _feel_?"

"You mean with the exception of my urge to murder you a minute ago?" Hermione replied as a hint of a smile stole itself onto her face. "Well, I…" she stopped, frowning. When _was_ the last time she had allowed her emotions to run free?

"See?" Fred's voice would have sounded smug if it hadn't been for the tears that still trickled down his chin. "You're letting You-Know-You take away your humanity. Your anger. Your temperament. Your laughter. Your passion. You're letting him slowly kill you from the inside, Hermione. I…we can't loose you, too."

Hermione Granger, who liked to think of herself as a rational person who was very much in control of her emotions thank-you-very-much, wasn't sure what exactly made her react this way. Consequently, she was quite surprised at the sudden and unexpected whirlwind of emotions that took hold of her as she launched herself into a startled Fred Weasley's arms and started crying. She hadn't cried that hard since being trapped with a troll in the girl's toilets back in her first year and she was surprised at just how good it felt to bury her head in Fred's shirt and thoroughly soak it with her tears.

Fred wasn't sure how long they had been standing like that: Hermione desperately clutching his shirt in the middle of a chaotic room with a toppled armchair, a singed book and various Wizard fireworks whizzing through the air. He hadn't felt that much at peace for a long time.

Finally, after an eternity and too little time, the dead grip on Fred's shirt was loosened and the bushy-haired girl raised her head.

"Fred?" she sniffled, "'m sorry, I…I think I've gotten a bit of….you know, my nose is always running when I'm crying…and I think some of it got on your shirt and…"

He blinked for a moment. Of all the things she could have said, Fred surely hadn't expected that one. And then, just like that, he threw his head back and laughed. A real, carefree and utterly happy laugh that he had missed for too long. He laughed until his sides started aching and tears once again streamed down his face. And before he knew it, a sniffling Hermione with her swollen, red-rimmed eyes and her dripping nose joined his laughter. It was the best feeling in the whole world, Fred decided.

It was rather late in the evening when Hermione retired to her room. She had talked a bit to Harry and Ron, who were both starting to heal. Ginny, too, was determined to allow life to go on, so the girls had spent the entire afternoon planning a vast brunch for the Order. They couldn't hide from each other forever. And perhaps, Hermione mused, she should take up sewing again in order to stock up on the hats for the House Elves when she got back to Hogwarts. A slight smile still playing on her lips, Hermione turned around and slid into her bed. Where she encountered something on her pillow: A large, leather-bound book entitled _'The Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms'_. Her smile spread as she opened the brand new book and found an inscription on the inside.

_A day without laughter is a day wasted. – Charlie Chaplin_

_Thank you for everything,_

_Your favourite prankster F.W. _

the end


End file.
